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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23562688">compromise</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/akanemnida/pseuds/akanemnida'>akanemnida</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), Canon Compliant, Character Study, Difficult Decisions, Friendship, Growing Up, I love tsukki, M/M, Slow Burn, Spoilers for post-timeskip, Third Year Tsukishima Kei, Tsukki does soul searching and maybe gets somewhere</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:48:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,045</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23562688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/akanemnida/pseuds/akanemnida</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In his third year of high school, Tsukishima Kei figures out how to walk the fine line between his realistic-bordering-on-pessimistic tendencies and his ever-so-slightly unattainable dreams.</p><p>(Or: Snapshots of Tsukishima’s brain throughout his third year in Karasuno High.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hinata Shouyou &amp; Tsukishima Kei, Kageyama Tobio/Tsukishima Kei, Tsukishima Kei &amp; Karasuno Volleyball Club, Tsukishima Kei &amp; Yachi Hitoka, Tsukishima Kei &amp; Yamaguchi Tadashi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>608</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. cour one</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I felt that the world needed more Karasuno freshmen as third years, specifically, more of third year Tsukki.<br/>This is my love letter to him, and it's getting so out of hand that I decided to split it into two (or three?)<br/>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>There’s a sense of complacency that comes with being the younger brother of someone as perfect as Akiteru—the comfort of knowing exactly what your parents want you to achieve; the security in hiding behind Akiteru’s little sins, committing them all to memory and vowing never to repeat them lest incur your mother’s wrath; the fact that he can do whatever the hell he wants because the Tsukishima family already had a perfect son.</p><p>He’d never admit it aloud, but he’d always been grateful for his <em>niichan</em>, not just for imparting to him a love of volleyball, but also for the good things that inadvertently came with having an older brother. He can’t speak for everyone, but life is much easier on him as Akiteru’s little brother: he’s able to get away with being a complete teenaged brat because <em>niichan</em> had softened his mother’s edges before he even turned thirteen. Even if he fakes chagrin with every head pat and feigns disgust when <em>niichan </em>calls him cute, he really can’t imagine what life would have been like without him.</p><p>But the reality is that having an older brother comes with the unfair burden of expectation. Akiteru wasn’t just some brainless, volleyball-obsessed jock: he’d gotten good grades in high school, good enough to make it to Tohoku University, and was just so <em>good </em>that he was immediately accepted to an office worker job on his first try right after graduation. It’s not that he’d asked his mom outright, but he’s pretty sure Tohoku would be the minimum expected from him. In any case, it’s the minimum he expects from himself.</p><p>He laughs at the thought. If Tohoku was the minimum, surely there’s no other place to go but down?</p><p>Except having an older brother means falling into the pitfalls of competitiveness and ambition and desire: he wanted to go to Tohoku too, and while the little voice in his head told him that maybe he could try for bigger schools like Keio or Tokyo University, because what did he have to lose, really (okay—maybe his pride and maybe his time). He’s a realist, not a dreamer, but more importantly there is just <em>something</em> about the Tohoku University campus in Sendai, the charm that came with it being just far away enough from his family home, far enough so he wouldn’t spend his entire life in the mountains anymore while being near enough so that he can come home to his mother’s <em>nikujaga </em>whenever he wanted.</p><p>Really, it’s not just because of Akiteru that he wants to go to Tohoku, just like how Karasuno wasn’t a school he’d picked because Akiteru went. He craved for the fresh air surrounding Karasuno’s mountains, for the thrills of competitive volleyball in a school that was good but not <em>that </em>good, and a small part of him wanted to spite his brother and maybe someday become a starter in a team <em>niichan</em> never managed to break into because that’s what liars and traitors deserve.</p><p>He’d seen how easily his world-weary brother would just drift home whenever the hell he wanted: after a tough exam, after a crushing volleyball loss, when his long-term girlfriend broke up with him during his sophomore year. He and Akiteru weren’t on good terms the entire time he was in university, but Kei had eyes that could see how perfect Tohoku is for someone like himself. Perfect for Kei, who struggles to balance his intellectual ambitions and city-lust with the overwhelming desire to curl into the warmth of his childhood blankets. To dream of staying in Miyagi isn’t settling if this is what he wants in the first place.</p><p>But then:</p><p>Tohoku University doesn’t have a strong volleyball team. They weren’t recruiting him, because there was no team that would even do the recruiting. There was no choice but to enter the traditional way. If he wanted this, he’d have to test into the school, which was one of the best in the country, not just in volleyball but one of the best <em>period</em>.</p><p>He’d received a handful of volleyball-related offers, of course, because sports scholarships were a perk that came with being a high school athlete with consistently good showings in national tournaments. The time and sweat and ripped fingers he’d dedicated to volleyball were finally bearing fruit, giving way to scholarships from schools needing a half-decent middle blocker: two Tokyo universities, an up-and-coming team from Hokkaido, he’d even gotten a few emails from schools in Kansai. Really, he could just choose one of these offers and be done with it—take the <em>shinkansen</em> into these big cities, walk into tryouts, block some balls, and break his pinky at the mercy of some university super ace.</p><p>He <em>could</em>, and his common sense tells him he <em>should</em>, but having an older brother to look up to means that some of his dreams had been set in stone since forever ago. His heart was set on a dream university; this goal didn’t come with a switch he could turn on and off and on again.</p><p>He grips at his pencil tightly, left hand massaging his temple while his right hand continues to solve a difficult math problem.</p><p>Tohoku University is the school for Miyagi’s elite, and studying <em>trigonometry</em>, of all things, in order to pass the center test and be admitted to a history program is a pain in the ass. But if there is something he learned over the past two years, if there is one thing he learned from his brother, it’s this: there’s really no harm in putting effort into things that you like.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The first game he plays as a high school senior is the traditional three-on-three with the new recruits. There were four of them this year, a perfect 2-2 split of rookies between his team and Kageyama’s. Petals of cherry blossoms litter the gymnasium door, and through the window he can see the heads of the girls who claim to be part of their fanclub.</p><p>Hinata had protested against this. He wanted to be the one to defeat Kageyama, the one assigned to leading the other team of rookies, so why was Stingyshima the one who got to play with the rookies, that’s just unfair…</p><p>Yamaguchi’s voice cuts in, interrupting Hinata’s rant. “Don’t you want to observe the new recruits?”</p><p>“I—eh, yeah,” Hinata answers lamely, because he couldn’t counter that. “But I want to play.”</p><p>Tsukishima almost offers to switch: let the volleyball-obsessed idiot chase his passions while he gets to rest his legs, but not before taking a glance at his teammates. <em>Sakamoto, Kihira</em>, he remembers from their earnest introductions a few days ago. Yamaguchi wouldn’t have been so insistent on having him play if there wasn’t a point, and he figures it out instantly: neither of his kids were above 180 centimeters, while one glance at Kageyama’s team tells him that the other side is stacked with height.</p><p>Never mind spiking power or speed: a block was necessary to even have the slightest chance against the King’s tosses. Yamaguchi wanted the kids on his team to be able to last through a fair fight.</p><p>“Hey, Hinata, think about it this way, don’t you think it’s better if you just watch from the sidelines today so that you’d have more <em>knowledge</em> about the rookies compared to Kageyama?” Yamaguchi says, clapping a hand against the shorter boy’s shoulder. Tsukishima smirks at the way Hinata’s eyes light up at the thought of beating Kageyama at something.</p><p>It’s Yamaguchi’s first week as captain, and it comes as a pleasant surprise to him that the newly minted leader knew exactly which words to say.</p><p>“Impressive,” he mouths at Yamaguchi once Hinata relents. His best friend really is no longer the boy who he’d muttered a derisive <em>pathetic </em>to almost ten years ago.</p><p> </p><p>Later, the king tosses a four to the spiker on the other side of the net, and of course it would be a high set. Quicks are more difficult to execute with people you’ve just met, and Kei knows <em>this</em> timing, has blocked it more than a hundred times by now—</p><p>He watches the ball float perfectly in a high arc, tugs at the shirt of the boy—Kihira—beside him, a signal to follow him for a double block. And before the ball reaches the spiker’s space…</p><p>“Don’t jump until I tell you to. One, two, three—<em>jump!</em>”</p><p>The block was well-timed, but the spiker targeted the space between his <em>kouhai</em>’s arms, causing the ball to land squarely in their court. Kageyama’s point.</p><p>It’s the boy’s first match in high school, against his royal highness, of all people. <em>Poor thing, </em>he thinks to himself, before realizing that his own first match had been against Kageyama as well. He tries to search his brain for something to say, words of encouragement, some volleyball wisdom, what would Sugawara-san <em>say</em>…</p><p>He’s buried these memories in the deep recesses of his mind by now, but Kuroo-san’s words tumble from his mouth before he could stop them. “Don’t spread your arms like a <em>banzai </em>block! Hold them up straight! And jump <em>up</em>, not sideways!”</p><p> </p><p>(His high set to Sakamoto later in the middle of set two gets blocked by the freshman on the other side of the court—Tokita, his brain supplies. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed that a single block by a rookie ended up working that well.</p><p>He swears he isn’t eavesdropping when overhears Kageyama complimenting Tokita’s kill block. He tries not to grin when the other boy says, “I jumped up and held my arms straight, senpai. Isn’t that what the tall blonde senpai yelled out earlier?”</p><p>He breaks and finally smiles when Kageyama answers, “Ah. Good, listen to Tsukishima.”)</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It’s a bit strange, the idea that he’s a third year now, that everything he does from this point all bear weight on the fragile thing called his future. And senior year meant more time than necessary spent talking to his sensei about his prospects. It’s not that Kei necessarily hates his sensei, but he has never been one for opening up easily.</p><p>“You want to become a volleyball player, right?” His homeroom teacher asks during the first career counselling session of his third-year life. “You’ve been a regular since your first year, you’ve made it to nationals several times, you’ve put in the work and got the results, so there’s probably no need to wor—”</p><p>“No,” Kei interrupts. He dislikes this conversation already, even if it’s only his first counselling session of the year, because he knows people just have questions that he’s never in the mood to answer. He doesn’t know why the world needs him to explain why he wants the things he wants. Still, he’s rehearsed this several times in his head. “I want a history degree,” he finishes quietly. “I’ll be taking the center test.”</p><p>There’s a brief yet expected flash of confusion that flashes in his sensei’s eyes. “But your results—nationals, volleyball, didn’t you get an offer from—”</p><p>“I didn’t spend my high school life in college prep classes for nothing. And my grades are good, too, sensei,” Kei says, firm but with an undertone of irritation that he tries to suppress from bleeding through. “Maybe they’re not Tohoku University good. But I haven’t been studying since my first year to not even <em>try</em>.”</p><p>The confusion in his sensei’s eyes gives way to understanding. His sensei takes a peek at his documents, before continuing.</p><p>“Okay. I understand. I’m not saying you can’t, because looking at your grades, you can<em>. </em>But I have to say, it’s unusual for someone to not even glance at sports scholarships they’d received, I’ve not met anyone like you before, Tsukishima-kun—didn’t Meiji…?”</p><p>Kei shrugs, and before he could stop himself:</p><p>“If it’s not what I want, does it matter?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He doesn’t become captain, he doesn’t even make vice, and it stung for a little bit at the time—a starting player since his first year, the brains and the grades and the skills to go with either title—all down the drain because of his self-admitted shitty personality. Envy is a bitch, and so is ambition, but he’s quick enough to tamp it down before it gets any worse.</p><p>Just because he wanted it because he thought he can do a good job at it doesn’t mean that he deserved it.</p><p>He’s not blind: he sees the shine in Yamaguchi’s eyes, the way his best friend patiently teaches the new recruits how to do a targeted serve. He’s not deaf either: he hears the soft tone Kageyama uses to teach his successor how to toss for a perfect slide hit. He doesn’t deserve the slightest hint of captaincy, he’s not <em>nice </em>enough, Hinata had pointed out when they were trying to make their final decisions, and that’s okay.</p><p>It’s just a title.</p><p>“Senpai,” a small voice speaks from beside him, shaking him from his thoughts. “Teach me how you time your blocks. I didn’t quite get it the last time.”</p><p>While the term <em>captain</em> is a title that is given by others, and one that wasn’t given to him, the word senpai practically fell onto his lap. It’s like how Akiteru became <em>oniichan</em>—it wasn’t something he chose to be, or something his parents forced him to become. It just happened.</p><p>It’s not the first time he’d been called senpai—the now-second years called him that, too, before realizing that he preferred to be called by the stale, plain, distant <em>Tsukishima-san</em>. But now there’s a shiver that creeps up his spine at the sound of being called <em>senpai</em>, at the thought of being someone looked up to by someone younger than him. The honorific bears weight: it’s not quite as heavy as <em>oniichan</em>, but it’s heavy all the same.</p><p>He doesn’t correct the first year—<em>Tokita</em>, <em>first year</em>, <em>class six</em>—let him call him <em>senpai </em>if he wants, he’ll change his mind soon enough.</p><p>But there’s a part of him that wants to live up to the honorific. Now isn’t like last year when Ennoshita and Nishinoya and Tanaka were around to be the team’s pillars. If it wasn’t going to be him, or the king, or Hinata, or Yamaguchi, then the kids wouldn’t have anyone, and, well, that’s not what Sawamura-san and his endless well of patience would’ve wanted for the team.</p><p>Maybe he’s too much of an antagonistic shit-stirrer to even be considered as a captain, but…</p><p>There’s nothing wrong with trying to be good at what you are.</p><p>“Sure,” Tsukishima answers, before adding hesitantly, “But I’m not good at this teaching thing…”</p><p>Tokita tilts his head. “Huh? You’re the best teacher out of the senpai, though.”</p><p>Tsukishima tries and fails to suppress the shock that crosses his features. There’s a warmth at the back of his neck that he doesn’t allow himself to indulge in. Was <em>this </em>what Nishinoya-san felt the first time Hinata ever called him senpai?</p><p>“Quit flattering me, I’m not as good as the captain,” he says, waving a hand in the air dismissively. <em>And I’ll never be as good as Sugawara-san</em>, he keeps inside, because Tokita doesn’t know who Sugawara-san even <em>is</em>.</p><p>“No!” the wide-eyed first year exclaims with conviction, scratching his head lightly. “You just—well, all the senpai teach different things, but you—you explain things so <em>well </em>and you use actual words and not sound effects and…” At this, Kei lets out a snicker, but motions for the younger boy to keep talking. “You break skills down to the very basics, and you’re…” Tokita trails off, before gathering the resolve to add, “You’re kind of mean, but maybe <em>strict</em> is a better word and—”</p><p>Tsukishima raises an eyebrow, and the first year responds by meeting his gaze head-on. “You’re kind of cool, Tsukishima-senpai!”</p><p>Senpai.</p><p>So maybe he’s no captain, and so what. Putting petty jealousy aside, he didn’t really want to be. It’s too much paperwork and groveling and interacting with authority. But<em> senpai.</em></p><p>He can be that, sure, no problem, yeah.</p><p>He glances at Yamaguchi and sees both firmness and gentleness beneath broad shoulder and muscle. He spares a glance at the king and sees him nudging a first year’s shoulders in order to improve his setting form and sees hardly any trace of the socially awkward boy he’d met two years ago. Hinata is still Hinata, his voice echoing around the gymnasium as he plays along with the antics of the second years, but there’s a dependability to his stance that hadn’t been there before. Heck, even Yachi-san has changed, her small back emanating a sense of security as she quickly jots down Coach Ukai’s words onto her pink notebook.</p><p>They’ve all grown so much from the unruly problem kids they once were, and bemusedly, Kei thinks<em>, how the hell did we get here?</em></p><p>Tsukishima squares his shoulders and resolves: maybe he’s not captain, maybe he’s not vice.</p><p>But he’s sure as hell not going to lose to anyone at being a senpai.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Back when he was half-heartedly playing volleyball in middle school, the name <em>Kageyama Tobio </em>was one that often floated around in conversations. An amazing setter, people would say, with an exceptional ability to make in-game decisions and a pinpoint accuracy that every setter in the prefecture would dream of, a prodigy with height and the athletic prowess to back up his on-court ruthlessness. For sure this boy had tickets to go to powerhouses like Aoba Johsai or Shiratorizawa, schools Kei couldn’t even dare dream of attending. As he practices his serves in the Amemaru Middle School gymnasium, his teammates and his coaches would spend idle moments talking highly of this mythical Kageyama Tobio’s abilities.</p><p>Except, he’d also overhear some negative things. That this boy is utterly reckless, completely unlikeable, a boy who acted more like a dictator than the team’s crucial playmaker.</p><p>Kei never claimed to have a pleasant personality, so commentary like that never fazed him. Maybe that Kageyama boy is just misunderstood, and at the end of the day, what did it matter? Volleyball talent and likeability didn’t necessarily have to come hand in hand, and when it came to <em>volleyball</em>, isn’t it obvious that the former should matter more? Akiteru had charm for days but never made it onto the active roster for three years.</p><p>Looking back, it was silly how much he repressed his interest in volleyball, burying it all under a façade of nonchalance and indifference. Though he’d shelved the thought of ever playing at a high level—<em>if Akiteru couldn’t do it, then what right do I have to think I can—</em>he spent most of his free time watching volleyball on the internet, analyzing plays by international teams, creating strategies in his mind. As much as he’d deny it, his feelings for volleyball had always been on the same level as his feelings for academics and music: not quite passion, not quite love, but almost. His interest isn’t something that would just wane because Akiteru isn’t Karasuno’s ace.</p><p>So, when he realized Kageyama Tobio was having a match in the Sendai City Gymnasium, just a few bus stops from his home in Miyagi, he knew he had to give the Kitagawa Daiichi match a watch. This is how he found himself, fake volleyball hater extraordinaire, in the bleachers, spending his precious time watching a game that had no bearing on his life or on his future.</p><p>Kita-ichi started the game with Kageyama’s serve, and his jump serve, all power with zero precision, was indeed a thing of beauty for someone in middle school. Kei couldn’t have done that even if he practiced hard, was that boy <em>really </em>his age? And then, less than 20 seconds into the first set, there’s a botched play from the other side, which led to a free ball. Kita-ichi’s libero passed the ball to Kageyama, and Kei realized as soon as the setter’s fingers made contact with the ball for a split second to pass it to the spiker—</p><p>Kageyama Tobio is a genius.</p><p>There’s no two ways around it: no human should have that type of ball control, let alone a boy who was probably barely even fourteen. His toss was perfect, a quick set to the back row that confounds the other team’s blockers, opening a completely empty path for the ball to be smashed through. Kei found himself enthralled.</p><p>But then, the other team adjusted, and the so-called genius setter ends up fumbling, opting for speed instead of tosses that his spikers were comfortable with hitting. When Tsukishima thought Kageyama would send it to the left for a sure, morale-boosting point from Kita-ichi’s ace, he’d set it to the middle again and again, faster and faster, only to get blocked, for points to keep going to the other team. Like the only way to get through a block was with speed, when there were other ways: brute force, angles, intelligence, to slow down so his teammates could breathe—sure this boy had ball control, but he had absolutely no idea how to control his own teammates, or even his emotions.</p><p><em>His late-game tosses would be very easy to block,</em> Kei thinks. <em>His anger makes him easy to read. But he’ll probably play at a level beyond my league</em>. The idea disappeared as quickly as it came.</p><p>His coaches were right. He shouldn’t have given Kageyama Tobio the benefit of the doubt.</p><p>Eventually, his spikers left him alone. The set went up, but everyone who can hit it stayed unmoving in their spots. No one made an approach, and the ball ended up rolling on the floor. This wasn’t an error: this was Kitagawa Daiichi’s middle school volleyball team making a statement. A whistle, and Kageyama Tobio was taken off the court. The most talented player he’d ever seen in his life was benched.</p><p>Not for the first time in his life, Kei found himself disappointed in the stands. He did come to satiate his curiosity about a prodigy; instead he felt like he wasted his time watching nothing but botched plays. Somehow, people he’d placed on a volleyball-related pedestal kept putting him down.</p><p>He resolved to leave, not bothering to find out who wins or who loses. But before he managed to leave the stands he overheard someone, likely one of Kageyama’s teammates, utter the phrase “the king of the court” with as much vitriol as humanly possible. The hatred lacing that majestic nickname sounded disjointed to his ears; Kei decided that he liked the irony of it all.</p><p>As he exited the gymnasium, Kei wondered what he’d do if he ever had the dubious fortune of spiking one of Kageyama Tobio’s sets. He shook his head, chuckling under his breath. It’s never going to happen anyway.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The ball hits the floor with a satisfying <em>thwack</em>, and he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t miss the way Kageyama’s sets end up with the ball right under his palm for the perfect spike, every time. The second years who tried to block his quick look at him aghast, to which he merely smirks in response.</p><p>It’s only the middle of May, they still have several months of being teammates to go, but time flies and he’s feeling slightly sentimental. He isn’t stupid enough to think that he and the king would be playing the same level of volleyball after graduation.</p><p>There’s a grin on his face (he refuses to acknowledge that he’s gone soft over time) and when he looks to his right his expectation meets his reality: there’s Kageyama, right hand held up, waiting for a high-five.</p><p>“Nice kill,” Kageyama says gruffly as Tsukishima returns his high-five. The king’s palm is sweaty and Kageyama’s unnecessary force causes the gesture to sting slightly. Still, their quick is the product of two years’ worth of repetition and practice and of swallowing pride. They’ve come a long way from where they were back then, when they were constantly at each other’s throats, unable to sync up for even the most basic of hits, unable to exchange compliments or acknowledge each other’s skill.</p><p>“Nice set, your highness.”</p><p>Kei watches Kageyama’s brow furrow at being called the familiar nickname—see, Kei tries to learn from his mistakes, but he will never allow himself to let go of life’s simple pleasures. While Kageyama’s grown into his role as the ruthless, uncompromising setter of Karasuno High, he still finds the nickname irritating, especially when it comes from Tsukishima’s mouth. He’s sure of this, he’s observant, he <em>knows</em>. He tries to not let himself think that he’s special.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>At the end of the volleyball season of their freshman year, right after the senpai retired and right after Hinata collapsed with a fever and after their loss to Kamomedai, Kei had resolved to get stronger. Strong enough to stand on the court for as long as possible, strong enough to be able to keep his options open two years down the line, strong enough to ensure the time he spends in the club would be commensurate to the results he would eventually get.</p><p>He never, ever, ever wants there to be a day in which he’d fall on the floor out of exhaustion, unable to get up and help the team—</p><p>Kei can still taste the moment in their first match against Shiratorizawa, when he ripped a finger open and it hurt like <em>hell</em>, but back then he was comforted by the idea that if he just walks fast enough to the medical center and returns just in the nick of time, he’d still be able to get a few blocks, maybe one point in from a well-timed quick set. He’d felt helpless in those few minutes—<em>it’s only a club</em>, my ass—but he was still able to stand up. All things considered, dislocating his pinky finger in the middle of his first year hurt his pride, but it hadn’t been that bad.</p><p>Hinata’s incident, on the other hand…</p><p>There’s a loud voice from his left side that snaps him out of his reverie. “Tsukishima. Tsukishimaaa. Tsukishima-<em>san</em>. Hello?”</p><p>Kei barely manages to muster a glare in response. “Yes, Hinata?”</p><p>“Are you going to the gym tonight? Let’s walk together if you are.”</p><p>“Ew, gross,” Kei shoots back with no real contempt in his voice, to which Hinata just rolls his eyes in retaliation.</p><p>Because this was almost routine: they’ve been going to the gym together several times a week, lifting weights and doing squats, developing an actual companionship after their first year run at spring nationals. It was unspoken, but the two of them had similar thoughts: get stronger, get better. Be good enough to stand on the orange court, even after this whole stint with Kageyama ends.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“It’s creepy when you smile, your highness,” Kei says, pressing a water bottle against Kageyama’s temple. It doesn’t do anything to get rid of the grin on Kageyama’s face. “Stop doing it.”</p><p>“And you’re a piece of shit, Tsukishima,” Kageyama answers, almost too brightly. He grasps at the bottle Tsukishima was handing to him before taking a swig of the cold water inside. It’s the end of one of their inter-high qualification matches, they’d beaten their opponents in straight sets, their semifinal match with Date Tech is scheduled for the next morning, and Kageyama still won’t stop <em>smiling</em>.</p><p>“Did something good happen?” Kei asks, curiosity getting the best of him. A tinge of pink crosses Kageyama’s cheeks. He tries to wager a guess. “You got a confession or something?”</p><p>“Ha?” the setter answers, appalled, narrowing his eyes at Tsukishima. The pink had now crept up to Tobio’s ears, and he tries not to be too pleased with the fact that Kageyama shot his idea down so quickly. “Where did that come from?”</p><p>Kei shrugs. Really, Tobio’s smile today is infectious. “So did something good happen?”</p><p>Kageyama looks left, right, and behind him, just to make sure that nobody was listening, before beckoning him to come closer. Kageyama lines up his mouth with his ear and.</p><p>Oh<em>.</em></p><p>“Shit, no <em>wonder</em>,” Tsukishima answers, awestruck as Tobio pulls away. There’s a traitorous thought in his mind: ah, this is what it feels to be left behind, but it lasts a mere millisecond because at the end of the day, he expected this—“Congratulations, King.”</p><p>It’s a testament to how happy Kageyama is that he doesn’t even tell him to quit it with the nickname. “I mean it’s not final or anything, and contracts have to be signed, and there might be more offers…”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>, but this is a Division One offer,” Kei answers, voice low so that no one could overhear. “Red Falcons, huh… So… you’re not going to university?”</p><p>There exists a small part of him, an unrealistic part that sometimes allows himself to indulge in little fantasies. A part that never let go of that match he watched in middle school, that wants to play against the king. It’s a very small part that grew up to dream that one day he’d be able to out-think Kageyama Tobio in an official match, that one day he’d defeat the same strategies that had gotten him and Karasuno through several high school prefectural championship games. If Tohoku wouldn’t accept him, then he’d play collegiate for some team in Tokyo, and then maybe he can take the king down a few notches. Really, that’s a more than decent backup plan.</p><p>But their dreams had been divergent in the first place. They were never going to run in the same circles, they’d spent their entire lives working towards different things. Just because Kageyama got his confirmation before he received his university admission letter doesn’t mean that he got left behind. They were always meant to go their separate ways.</p><p>He knows Kageyama’s answer before it comes.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Their final play during the inter-high qualifiers goes something like this: a match point jump serve from Date Tech’s up-and-coming ace, barely received by Hinata in the back. It’s not a clean pass and it’s arcing so much closer to his zone than to Kageyama’s, but it’s high enough for him to try and set. They don’t have to give up a free ball at this crucial moment.</p><p>Somehow Hinata managed to get up and start his backrow approach, and he hears their own ace on the left calling for the toss. But the only real toss he can make now to the best of his abilities is one directly to the setter’s spot—</p><p>“Kageyama!”</p><p>He’s not a good setter by any means. His careful, high toss is completely read, the opponents set up a three-man block, and while Kageyama tries his best to tool the block, the ball lands in-bounds on their side of the court.</p><p><em>I played for three years in high school</em>, Kei thinks as he watches the ball roll on the floor, <em>and yet I’ll never be able to play in the summer inter-high.</em></p><p> </p><p>“My bad,” Hinata says, looking at the scoreboard as it solidifies their loss. He slaps a hand across his back. “Could’ve passed that better.”</p><p>Kageyama makes an irritated noise from in front of them. “Nah, it was me. I probably should have gone for a rebound.”</p><p><em>It’s my fault. They read me completely. My toss sucked. I let them win. I’m sorry</em>—</p><p>
  <em>Karasuno High School: Eliminated at the Semifinals of the Miyagi Inter-High Qualifier Tournaments.</em>
</p><p>“I’ll do better in the spring tournament,” Tsukishima says instead of voicing out his inner turmoil. Yamaguchi, Hinata, and Kageyama look at him earnestly. He remembers his own flickering thoughts of quitting after the inter-high, of focusing on college entrance exams, of finally telling his sensei that, yes, he’s done with volleyball for now, please stop asking me irritating questions—all of them, immediately silenced. Tsukishima Kei is not yet done with high school volleyball.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He’s browsing social media when he sees a post: a simple one-liner, the message concise and clear. The Sendai Frogs are holding tryouts for next year’s team. He doesn’t allow himself to think twice before he submits the online form: <em>Tsukishima Kei, 17, middle blocker</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. cour two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm sorry for the wait, but here I am, with almost 9000 words as an offering.<br/>Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy. It would mean a lot to me if you do.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>His sensei calls him into the guidance counseling office two days after he submits the form. There is a shiver that creeps up his spine: was his sensei privy to information he never even gave the school in the first place?</p><p>A part of him feels like a child caught red-handed doing something wrong, like wanting to play more volleyball post-graduation went against some school rule he’d forgotten about.</p><p>“Congrats on reaching the inter-high semifinals,” his sensei says. “That’s a really good showing for your last high school tournament, and I’m sure schools would love to take that into account when they consider your admission.”</p><p>Tsukishima furrows his eyebrows. “Last tournament?”</p><p>“I thought you were staying until the inter-highs end, Tsukishima-kun,” his sensei responds. “I thought that was your plan, and then you will pour everything into your center test—”</p><p>“I never said that,” Tsukishima answers tersely, even if he had thought of it sometimes because it <em>was </em>the sensible thing to do. “I plan to play until the end.”</p><p>His sensei pauses to take a sharp intake of breath, before continuing. “And you say you want to go to Tohoku, Tsukishima-kun.”</p><p>“Yes. I still do.”</p><p>“I will be frank, Tsukishima-kun, if you’re going to take volleyball this seriously, then why don’t you make it easier on yourself and choose from the good universities that are actually begging you to play for them? Just because they are volleyball powerhouses doesn’t mean they don’t offer good education, you know.”</p><p>“It’s not what I want. I know I can do it, sensei.”</p><p>“You can <em>try</em>,” his sensei corrects him, irritating Tsukishima further. He never liked being told what he could and could not do. “Have you ever considered that you might be spreading yourself too thin? That maybe because you can’t commit yourself to one thing, you’ll end up doing badly in <em>both</em>?”</p><p>Tsukishima flinches. Of course he’d thought of that and the ultimate pointlessness of his balancing act. But he’d also thought of: Yamaguchi growing into his captaincy, Kageyama’s perfect and exacting tosses, Hinata goading him to slam balls down more strongly.</p><p>At the very least, there is no way he’d do badly in volleyball, because volleyball is a team sport and those three would never let him get away with giving anything but his best.</p><p>He’d also thought of people who put all their eggs in one basket, like Akiteru back in high school and Kageyama and Hinata in their relentless pursuit of volleyball glory. Sometimes it works out perfectly; for his older brother, it didn’t. It shouldn’t be counted as spreading himself too thin when his own end goal is to keep his options open; he doesn’t study well into the middle of the night, downing coffee and energy drinks and sporting undereye circles during volleyball morning practice, just for his academics to be questioned now for the first time in three years.</p><p>“Hey, sensei, how will you react if I tell you I also want to play professionally?”</p><p>Kei can’t say he didn’t expect the deep sigh his sensei let out—it was the reaction he wanted, after all.</p><p>He’ll regret his choices later if he has to, but now, all he has to do is to do his best.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He became a blocker mostly due to height and convenience: when you’re a beanpole at age ten, blocking was the no-brainer position which coaches just shove you into, but if you’ve been blocking since age ten, you get used to it; heck, you even find yourself falling in love with it.</p><p>At one point in time, he thought that he’d rather be a setter: a decisive control tower, calm and cool and intelligent. As much as he hates to admit it, being a middle blocker can get rather bland, a thankless job that leads either to mere ball deflections or to opponents tooling his block. He’d rather die than admit this to Kageyama’s face, but setters are pretty fucking awesome. The thought of executing a well-timed second-touch attack sends shivers down his spine.</p><p>He’s fascinated with history for reasons akin to why he enjoys middle blocking, but the similarities don’t occur to him until well into his first year of high school, not until after Kuroo-san and Bokuto-san trained with him until late at night in the third gym to hone his blocker instincts. He’d always found himself gravitating towards things from the past—dinosaurs, old music, literary classics, the harsh memories of Akiteru’s betrayal—but beyond initial attraction he finds that he spends more time dwelling over what had already happened compared to the average person.</p><p>And this is why he can’t become a setter: his intelligence doesn’t always manifest itself as decisiveness, impulses are repressed until they simmer down to mere thoughts, and while for the most part he’s also smart and cool and calm and collected, he’d probably be called for dribbling too often because he’d end up overthinking mid-toss as he figures out who to use between two feasible attackers.</p><p>While the thrill of a well-executed quick can thrum through his veins all throughout a set, being a <em>blocker</em> isn’t about killing the ball: it’s about gathering all the information available, finding out anything and everything he can in the moment across several moments. It’s defense at its most drawn-out: preparation and analysis, laying out set-long traps before he can even dream of execution.</p><p>It doesn’t have to be instantaneous. He doesn’t have to be impulsive. But he has to be constantly thinking, brain in motion as the present turns into past. And then: to use all this intel, quirks and mistakes and tendencies, all to prevent opponents from converting serves into points. To prevent his team from making the same errors in the future.</p><p>(History never repeats itself. Man always does.)</p><p>The feeling of a well-timed, well-thought out, overly prepared, set 3 kill block is his most favorite kind.</p><p>His phone buzzes with an email notification. He closes the textbook he’d been reading in preparation for the center test in January. A confirmation message: he’ll be trying out for the Sendai Frogs.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The day Akiteru’s girlfriend broke up with him is fresh in his mind, and if he thinks hard enough he can recall how hollow Akiteru’s usually bright eyes were that afternoon, the redness of his nose, the sound of muffled sniffles from behind his <em>niichan</em>’s bedroom door.</p><p>He was in second year of junior high when this happened, Akiteru a college sophomore, and this was when Kei promised himself that he will never get into a relationship for fear of getting hurt in the same way Sayaka-neechan—<em>Muramoto-san</em>—hurt his <em>niichan</em>.</p><p>He doesn’t make nebulous promises on how he’ll never fall in love, because no one has control over feelings, but relationships are the byproducts of decisions made over time. Attraction is a difficult thing to quell: heck, back then he’d thought Yachi-san was cute more than once. But he shot that train of thought down a long time ago, when Yamaguchi expressed the slightest hint of interest. But more importantly, someone as dear and as patient as Yachi-san deserved someone who could give her a relationship. That could be Tadashi, but it wouldn’t be him.</p><p>But when it comes to that person, there’s a pervasive itch under his skin, the impetus to do something, the desire to always try and elicit some sort of reaction—and for what?</p><p>Whenever that person’s blue eyes are focused solely on his amber ones, eyes narrowed due to irritation, attention only on Kei, only <em>for</em> Kei for the greater part of five seconds, it’s in those short moments that he finds his answer.</p><p>There’s a brief fantasy that flashes in his mind whenever the king smiles at him. It’s a fantasy of being with Kageyama Tobio, of holding his hand while talking volleyball strategies with him all night long.</p><p>These thoughts don’t count because they don’t actualize themselves in the real world. He doesn’t have a crush, and he never, ever wants to be in a relationship, especially not with someone completely out of his league. These were things he’d decided a long time ago.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Beach volleyball, huh,” Tsukishima muses after Hinata tells him about his meeting with Washijo-sensei the other night. Volleyball practice had ended early today, so he planned to hit the gym with Hinata. Today, their normally silent walk was filled with excited buzzing about Brazil and Kato-san and the sea. “Why don’t you just switch?”</p><p>“Because I like indoor!” Hinata exclaims. “I like playing with a team, I like the smell of Air Salonpas and the sound of shoes squeaking across the gymnasium floors. I just… I like volleyball. Beach isn’t the same.”</p><p>Tsukishima raises an eyebrow at him. “So why are you doing it? Isn’t it a waste of time if you’re not going to do it seriously?”</p><p>“Who said I’m not going to take it seriously, Tsukishima,” Hinata says, whining. “Just because I’m using it to become better at indoor doesn’t mean that I’m just doing it for the laughs, you know.”</p><p>Tsukishima knows, on principle, that beach would allow Hinata to get better at covering and hustling to play any role. That sand doesn’t offer much in terms of lift so Hinata’s leg muscles would become better at jumping after three years doing beach. That the current crop of high schoolers and fresh graduates is stacked, and if Hinata wants to play on the same level as Kageyama, if he wants to be noticed by elite coaches independently of the king, then there is a lot of work Hinata still had to do. And if beach was what he needs to do to get over his height disadvantage and set himself apart, then Hinata really has no choice.</p><p>Still, he can’t stop himself from asking. He needs to know.</p><p>“Has this worked for anyone else before?”</p><p>Hinata merely shrugs. “Does it matter?”</p><p>A small smile creeps up on Tsukishima’s face. What was the point of dwelling endlessly on the past when the future is just so…</p><p>“You’re right. I guess it doesn’t.”</p><p>(Later as he closes his eyes, before he drifts off to sleep, he remembers his sensei’s words when he told him about his university plans—<em>I’ve not met anyone like you before</em>—and maybe the truth is that Tsukishima doesn’t cling only to pure reason when doing things, that he’s not as clinical and as rational as he’d like himself to believe, and that maybe now he’s a lot more like Hinata than he thought.)</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It’s during one of those rare, quiet moments in the library—third years have to get a <em>lot </em>of studying done if they wanted to get into a good school—when Yamaguchi decides to drop a bomb.</p><p>“I think I’m going to quit volleyball after high school, Tsukki,” he says, feigning nonchalance, talking like he’s remarking about the weather.</p><p>Tsukishima’s writing comes to an abrupt stop. He hadn’t told anyone about his own tryouts in three weeks. His eyes are wide as he looks at Yamaguchi. “Oh?”</p><p>“I mean, I’m not that good at volleyball or anything, and I don’t even know how I became captain, and I haven’t gotten any sports scholarship offers, and,” he scratches his head. “I think it would be nice to leave everything behind as a nice high school memory, you know?”</p><p>Tsukishima blinks slowly, trying to process. He normally prides himself on his cool head and overall rationality, and what his best friend is saying makes sense, but Yamaguchi had been by his side since the first day he decided to start playing somewhat seriously, was there during the highs and lows of his Akiteru hero worship. Yamaguchi stood by his side when he loved volleyball because his brother loved it, when he thought he hated it because of all the hurt it brings; Yamaguchi was there when he learned to like volleyball in and of itself, was present when that like crossed to love to eventually just integrate itself into his life.</p><p>Volleyball isn’t the reason why they’re friends, but Yamaguchi has been so intertwined with his volleyball life that he can’t imagine the rest of his <em>career</em> without him.</p><p>Well. He just has to deal with it.</p><p>“Oh. Okay,” Tsukishima answers quietly. Yamaguchi grins.</p><p>“What, that’s it, Tsukki? You’re not going to ask me to stay? No dramatics, no snark? You won’t even miss me?”</p><p>Tsukishima snorts, picking up the pencil he’d let go of in his shock. People who think Yamaguchi is meek and silent are wrong because the Tadashi he knows is a piece of shit.</p><p>“That would be lame, so no. It’s your life, do what you want.” He doesn’t refute the notion that he will most definitely miss his best friend. “Also, you’re pretty good at volleyball.”</p><p>Yamaguchi sees right through him and his smile gets even wider. “I’ll miss you too, Tsukki!”</p><p>“When did I say anything about missing you…”</p><p>Tadashi ignores Kei. “Ha… maybe if I were as tall as you, I would have gotten even one offer, but a part of me really <em>is</em> looking forward to a life with no nighttime practices and no unruly problem children to deal with… Hey, Tsukki, you’ll be playing next year, right?”</p><p>“I don’t know?” Tsukishima answers honestly. “You know I still want to go to Tohoku, and their team isn’t exactly good… ah, fuck, I might as well tell you—”</p><p>“You’re trying out for the Sendai Frogs, aren’t you?” Yamaguchi says cheerfully, while Tsukishima narrows his eyes in response. “Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t do anything sketchy, I saw the post too!”</p><p>“Look, I don’t know why I didn’t tell you right away but, yeah, I am. I’m pretty nervous, actually.”</p><p>There’s a familiar sparkle in Yamaguchi’s eyes, one that had often appeared throughout their years together, one that Kei never felt worthy of receiving. “I knew it! I <em>really</em> thought about trying out, but when I thought about it harder I realized it wasn’t for me, but it’s perfect for you, so I was going to send you the link but then I realized you probably already saw it. Congrats, Tsukki!”</p><p>“You’re being loud, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima berates. “They haven’t even accepted me yet.”</p><p>“Like they’ll turn down Miyagi’s best middle,” Yamguchi retorts, and then, “You know your own stats and how good you are. Don’t even get in your own head for this one.”</p><p>Tsukishima could only chuckle in response. To know his numbers was one thing—and he does have a little bit of faith in them, and in the years of repeated motion burned into his muscles and in his brain fine-tuned to a point where he can read any spiker’s minutia—but Tadashi’s constant words of affirmation and his occasionally-harsh encouragement hit differently.</p><p>Tadashi had been there since the start, had seen him both at his best and at his most pitiful.</p><p>Tadashi always knew exactly what to say to make him feel like he was actually good. Like the things he does are somehow worth being proud of.</p><p>“I hope I’ll still be playing next year,” Kei says, a little wistful, because these were words that wouldn’t have come from his mouth a little over two years ago, back in Tokyo when he was completely ready to drop this club out of exhaustion and spite. Before Bokuto-san all but told him that he’s a terrible player, before Kuroo-san painstakingly explained the mechanisms of a perfect block. “But even if they take me, I’ll probably won’t be a regular. Probably won’t even get to play.”</p><p>Tadashi only hums, and Kei appreciates it, because needless optimism and empty encouragement isn’t something he ever approved of.</p><p>“Still, though, Tsukki, it’s the V.League…”</p><p>“It’s just Division Two,” Kei deadpans. “Stop overblowing it.”</p><p>“No, <em>you</em> stop underplaying it,” he replies. “Professional volleyball… getting paid to play… man, Tsukki, you’re so cool. You’ve always been cool. You’re the coolest.”</p><p>He tries to stop the heat that crawls up his neck.</p><p>“Shut up Yamaguchi,” he says to deflect, just like routine, to get rid of the slight twinge of embarrassment. He smiles a little before adding, “Call me cool in a few weeks if they accept me.”</p><p>“<em>When </em>they accept you.” Yamaguchi throws him a thumbs-up while grinning brightly. “Go get ‘em, Tsukki! Wait, let me get my notebook, you have to sign it so I can sell it on Mercari when you get famous, we can split the profits, <em>hey,</em> can I sell the towel you left in my house—”</p><p>Tsukishima almost bursts into laughter—the loud, from-the-belly kind that only a few people ever get to witness from him—because Tadashi is ridiculous. But they are in a library, and Kei prefers to stay out of trouble, so he instead muffles his giggles behind his palm and uses his other hand to flick Tadashi’s forehead.</p><p>Ah, he’ll really miss having Yamaguchi around.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The Sendai City Gymnasium isn’t an unfamiliar place. Not when it’s been host to most of his prefectural championship games, not when he’d sometimes come here for fun with the rest of his teammates when volleyball exhibition games somehow made their way to Miyagi. All things considered, this gymnasium probably is most familiar to him next to Karasuno’s own.</p><p>But this is the first time he steps into this gym alone.</p><p>It’s an unfamiliar feeling.</p><p>The gymnasium feels a lot bigger and more intimidating when stepping into it without a carsick Hinata or an overly-confident Kageyama. Today, whatever comes next is based solely on his own actions, and as someone who plays a team sport, the idea that his future in said sport relies only on himself is a little scary.</p><p>He adjusts the strap of his gym bag and walks towards the court where their tryouts are supposed to be held, and when he opens the door he’s greeted by the presence of other Sendai Frogs hopefuls—faces he’d encountered in the high school scene, the wing spiker of a small school he’d mercilessly blocked during the first round of the summer Inter-High preliminaries, people unfamiliar to him who were probably playing in the college circuit, men who looked like adults and were much broader than himself.</p><p>It hits him, as he pulls on his kneepads and adjusts his shoelaces, that professional volleyball is a completely different volleyball.</p><p>He feels a little small.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually, the coaches and other important-looking people come in, signifying the start of the session. He goes through the stuffy motions that the beginning of tryouts entails, lines up with the others, and during his turn, introduces himself as Karasuno’s third year middle blocker. Hearing his school’s name seems to perk up those beside him, and one of the coaches watching raises his eyebrow in a semblance of approval. Because even if they didn’t know who he is personally, any volleyball enthusiast in Miyagi worth their salt would know about Karasuno by now.</p><p>It hits him that while he may feel occasionally insecure, and the others here may have a wealth of volleyball experience that he does not yet have, in this room, only Tsukishima Kei carries the name of Karasuno.</p><p>How could he forget? He comes from a powerhouse team.</p><p>He helped <em>build </em>his powerhouse team.</p><p>He allows himself to stand up a little bit straighter after that.</p><p> </p><p>The session begins with the usual serve-receive drills, and today he starts with reception. Receives weren’t something you can train in a short period of time, so it’s not something he actively worked on prior to today, instead hoping that his years of having to receive Goshiki’s and Kageyama’s and Yamaguchi’s and freaking <em>Atsumu Miya’s </em>serves would finally come in handy.</p><p>The law of nature dictates that having overly-long limbs isn’t ideal for reception or digs, but after Nishinoya-san graduated last year he had to play back row more often, as his years on the court had ingrained in him a halfway decent ability to read ball courses and put up balls in ways Kageyama deems as more acceptable than their current first-year libero.</p><p>It’s not like he can excuse himself from reception just because he’s lanky, not when Kuroo-san had Nekoma’s most perfect bumps, second only to Yaku-san, and Tsukishima hates the idea of being any less than his so-called master. Receiving isn’t easy, but he can do it now, because Yamaguchi and Kageyama and Hinata needed training partners when they were practicing their damn serves. And while Kageyama is never picky with passes—just get them high, <em>please</em>—he’s proud that he can receive Yamaguchi’s and Kinoshita’s floaters on good days and send them with perfect A-passes to his setter.</p><p>He’s comfortable with reception.</p><p>And so, he manages: a passable overhand for jump floaters that the college kids would send his way in an attempt to trick him (nice try, my best friend’s floater is better than yours), decent digs for the jump serves. He isn’t able to receive everything, because he realizes the players in this court were <em>good </em>players, but he gets a percentage that is decent enough for himself to feel slightly proud of.</p><p>And when he overhears someone say <em>I thought that blonde beanpole is a blocker</em> in a tone of mixed awe and disbelief, he smiles.</p><p><em>I am a blocker, </em>he thinks. <em>My teammates are just really, really good servers.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Later, it becomes his turn to serve, and he starts with his recently-perfected jump floater that horrified his opponents during the summer inter-high qualifiers. The person on the other side of the net takes half a second to register before switching to an overhand reception, right when the ball veers slightly off course. It’s a perfect receive, and Kei can only say a half-hearted <em>nice receive </em>in response. He looks at the coach evaluating them and is relieved when he sees no sign of displeasure on his face.</p><p>During his next turn, he sends a jump floater, this time trying to aim the ball perfectly.</p><p>“Out!”</p><p>Kei grins widely when it lands directly on the line.</p><p>“Nice serve,” Tsukishima hears the coach mutter as he scribbles on his clipboard, and all of a sudden, “Tsukishima-kun, do you have another serve?”</p><p>He takes a moment to consider his reply before deciding on, “I’m working on a jump serve…”</p><p>He regrets it slightly the next second because he could have just kept his mouth shut. His jump serve isn’t game ready yet, and here he is in professional volleyball tryouts claiming that he had one—</p><p>“Do one next.”</p><p>Kei takes a deep breath, walks six steps behind the service line.</p><p>He thinks of the uncountable number of times Yamaguchi and Kageyama had been in this exact position while carrying the entire team’s pride on their backs. He tosses the ball high in the air, in the way Kageyama taught him during one of their late-night training sessions, dashes forward, and jumps.</p><p>The ball feels amazing against his palm. The ball lands out-of-bounds. A cacophony of “don’t mind” greets his ears—he <em>does </em>mind, thank you very much.</p><p>The player next to him claps his shoulder.</p><p>“You’re really good.”</p><p>Kei blinks twice. “Is that so? Thank you,” he answers, unconvinced.</p><p> </p><p>They have interviews after tryouts finish, after they’ve showered at the end of a long day filled with drills and scrimmages.</p><p>The first question he’s asked by a panel member is, “You must have volleyball schools begging you to play, am I wrong?”</p><p>“Yes, I… Pardon?”</p><p>“I know who you are, Tsukishima Kei,” the coach continues. “You’ve been a starter for Karasuno since your first year, you were responsible for more than half of the blocks against Shiratorizawa’s Ushijima. You led your team to nationals that year.”</p><p>“I was a rookie then, I simply played as well as I could,” he answers, unsure of how to properly respond. “I didn’t lead them or anything—my team that year was good.”</p><p>“But without your blocks, Karasuno wouldn’t have gotten anywhere.”</p><p>“I—maybe,” Tsukishima responds, uncomfortable. There are grains of truth behind the statement, but it’s hard to state something as fact if it hadn’t even happened.</p><p>The coach scribbles something on his notepad, before continuing, “So what is a starting member from Miyagi’s top volleyball school doing here? You’re not going to play college volleyball? Not going to try to break into Division One?”</p><p>Kei plays with his fingers nervously, before taking a sharp inhale and looking at his interviewer in the eye.</p><p>“This is where I want to be.”</p><p>Tsukishima doesn’t fail to notice the coach’s small smile.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
“Ah, Kei, why are you calling?”</p><p>“<em>Niichan</em>. I made it to the Sendai Frogs.”</p><p>“What? Holy shit, Kei! That’s <em>amazing</em>, congratulations, I always wished that you’ll keep playing next year, oh man, Mom would be so happy, have you told mom? I’ll tell mom—I knew you were good enough to go pro since you were a kid, Kei, you—”</p><p>“Niichan.”</p><p>“Ack, so serious—what’s wrong?”</p><p>“Thank you for dragging me into volleyball.”</p><p>“…Ah, that’s… nothing… hah… thank you for loving it, Kei.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tsukishima finds Kageyama lying down on the floor of the club room, mindlessly and repeatedly tossing a volleyball in the air. He looks dazed, but with a happy smile on his face. He sits on the ground beside Kageyama and peers down at him. Kageyama stops tossing, but he doesn't stop smiling. The last time this happened, Kageyama got recruited, so he can guess what happened this time.</p><p>"Oy, King, go home," Tsukishima says. There's blatant elation in the blue of Tobio's eyes. "What's got you in a good mood anyway?</p><p>"I got recruited by the Adlers," Kageyama gushes. "I—Tsukishima—I'm so <em>excited</em>—"</p><p>And there it is: the reminder that Tobio is a prodigy, miles ahead of anywhere he'll ever be.</p><p>His Sendai Frogs acceptance pales slightly in comparson.</p><p>"That's the best club team in Japan," Tsukishima says, adding, “And you’re the best high school setter, so isn’t this expected—”</p><p>“This is the first time that a ‘best team’ had ever reached out to me, Tsukishima,” Kageyama answers. “I know I’m good. But that doesn’t mean anything when those who matter don’t <em>see</em> me that way.”</p><p>It hits Kei like a wave: the realization that the king had his own burdens and insecurities. Shiratorizawa didn’t offer him a scholarship, Kitagawa Daiichi rejected his existence, Waseda took one glance at his grades before balking. Things came easily to prodigies, but prodigious skill honed to a fine point all amount to nothing when it isn’t being seen. It hits him just as hard, that while it seemed like good things have endlessly been falling on Kageyama’s lap, that even the king had goals that would’ve broken his heart if he didn’t achieve them.</p><p>Kei achieved one of his goals. He should be elated for his friends who do the same.</p><p>“I’m really happy for you, Kageyama,” Kei responds with newfound sincerity. “You deserve this.”</p><p>Tobio blinks up at him before narrowing his eyes, unprepared for Tsukishima’s attitude. “What, you aren’t going to insult me? Call me a righteous king, talk about how I’m finally meeting up with people on my kingly level or whatever?”</p><p>Tsukishima flinches. He would, and the temptation of riling him up was still there, but… Kageyama looked really happy. He didn’t want to dampen his mood even slightly. “Hey, I’m not that bad.”</p><p>The furrow in between Kageyama’s brow softens. “I guess you’re not. Sorry. Thank you.”</p><p>There’s a comfortable silence that fills the air as Tsukishima sits cross-legged beside Tobio’s sprawled-out form. He’s spacing out when he feels a tug on his shirt sleeve. Kageyama was trying to get his attention.</p><p>“I’ll see you next year, then?”</p><p>“…What?”</p><p>“Let’s play each other sometime.”</p><p>“Huh? That’s impossible, your highness,” Tsukishima responds, looking straight into Kageyama’s eyes. “Look, I’m not going to Division One like you are, that’s for monsters like you and Ushijima-san.”</p><p>“Kurowashiki,” Kageyama says simply. “Let’s meet each other there.”</p><p>Tsukishima hadn’t even allowed himself to entertain that train of thought. Of course it was an objective possibility, but the probability…</p><p>While the Kurowashiki tournament did invite the top second league teams, and while the Sendai Frogs did play in division two, he never thought he’d immediately become a starter. He never considered that his team would make it to the top of the heap.</p><p>He knows his realism is a flaw that kills his fantasies before they can even take root but…</p><p>As long as they are playing the same sport, there’s no real reason to believe that he could never play on the same level as Kageyama Tobio, not when there are many tournaments and just as many chances.</p><p>He just has to take them.</p><p>He just has to win.</p><p>And then something so obvious hits him like a truck: he can’t win if he never plays the game.</p><p>His realism wants so badly to shoot Kageyama down. <em>Dream on, King</em>, would be one response, or, <em>My team isn’t good enough to play on your level, </em>or even to relent but still remain mildly antagonistic, <em>Okay, but I’m going to beat you</em>.</p><p>But in this moment, it doesn’t feel right, so he settles for a small “Sure,” to which Kageyama responds with a small, peaceful smile.</p><p>Tsukishima breaks the moment by flicking Kageyama’s forehead with his thumb and forefinger.</p><p>“Oy, let’s get out of here.”</p><p>“Leave me alone, you piece of shit,” Kageyama says, with no real heat to his voice, going back to playing with his volleyball. Tsukishima hums in response, and then picks up his phone. He pokes at his touchscreen, before saying, “If we get out of here now, we can take the next bus to Sendai.”</p><p>From his position, Kageyama tilts his head in confusion. “Sendai?”</p><p>There’s a heat that creeps up the back of his neck, threatening to crawl up to his pale cheeks.</p><p>If love is a game, then this is his first move.</p><p>“You got recruited by the top team in the <em>nation</em>, your highness. You need to celebrate instead of lying down like a weirdo on the club room floor.”</p><p>“Sure,” Kageyama responds slowly, uncertainty still lacing his voice. “But why Sendai?”</p><p>Tsukishima shrugs. Sendai is a mere impulse; later he’ll realize part of this random plan comes from a stray desire of him wanting to get Kageyama alone without being caught by his nosy kouhai.</p><p>“Let’s see if the curry set at the new restaurant at the station is as good as they say. My treat.”</p><p>Kei stands up and reaches out a hand to help the other boy up, and it’s not like he’s someone who matters, but when they’re both standing eye-to-eye Tsukishima sees: Tobio’s earnest grin, excitement in his eyes, and the slightest shade of pink stamped across his nose.</p><p>The other boy’s hand is warm, and Tobio seems to take a little bit longer than expected before letting go of his hand.</p><p>Upon seeing red on the tips of Kageyama’s ears as the setter walks slightly ahead, Kei can almost convince himself that Tobio is playing the game too.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When thinking about the big picture, third in the nation during volleyball’s <em>Koshien</em> is a good result. It’s one that others in the country would never even dream of because of how difficult it is to achieve.</p><p>From his point of view, third is just one big <em>almost</em>.</p><p>Since when did he become this ambitious when it comes to volleyball?</p><p>Volleyball doesn’t stop next year, not when his contract for the Sendai Frogs is so close to being signed. His mom had asked for a contract deadline extension, to wait until Kei knew for sure where he’d be going to college. Miraculously, the coaches agreed to wait for him. Even if he doesn’t end up playing in the V. League, volleyball goes on, because the Meiji offer is still standing.</p><p>But high school volleyball ended with the whistle of the referee when the ball landed squarely on Karasuno’s court at Itachiyama’s match point.</p><p>When they lost, only Yachi-san had cried. The gears of the entire team had all clicked into place, allowing them to play an amazing game against Itachiyama. No one made any real mistakes. If he’d blocked a spike more cleanly, or if he’d just gotten his last jump serve in, then maybe they’d be playing the finals at center court.</p><p>More than regret, Kei feels wistful. Volleyball doesn’t have to end, but high school volleyball inevitably comes to an abrupt stop.</p><p>At the end of the day, it really is just a club.</p><p>He wasn’t wrong back then.</p><p>In the grand scheme of things, the concept of a high school club is so small.</p><p>But the word club isn’t meaningless.</p><p>Club is his kneepads hitting the gym floor during flying receive drills every time they lost a practice match, club is the tape wrapped securely around his fingers when he blocks. Club is the pain he feels once in a while in his pinky because some injuries never really recover. Club is his gym membership that he pays for with his own allowance because broader shoulders would make for a better block. Club is his newfound affection for meat buns just because everyone else liked them and kept buying them to share.</p><p>Club is his kouhais, earnest and noisy and annoying and for some reason willing to listen to his snark and to the stupid things he says. Club is Ukai and Takeda-sensei pulling him forward on days he didn’t even want to get up. Club is his senpais who have graduated, all nurturing smiles and tough love. Club is the four persons he spent the entirety of the past three years with, those he’d begrudgingly consider as not quite family, but somewhere close.</p><p>The Karasuno High School Volleyball Club is everyone and everything that has helped make who he is today.</p><p>Third is one big almost because he could have played one more game in his black-and-orange jersey.</p><p>He could have played one more time with his team.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He arrives at the testing center with the confidence of someone who had spent the past six years of his life preparing for this one damned test, but buried underneath bravado is the self-loathing and doubt that came from having spent too much time in volleyball practice instead of answering mock test booklets. Sure, his team placed third in the nation just a couple of weeks ago, which means he’s somewhere close to being one of the best high school blockers in the country, but his ability to execute a well-timed one-touch isn’t going to help him solve advanced algebra and shade some scantron bubbles.</p><p>There is snow littering the pavement and ice in his veins.</p><p>What if everyone was right all along and he made all the wrong choices leading up to this point?</p><p>What if he gets a low score and barely misses the cut for his dream university, what if he forgets that one formula that would make or break his score, what if he misreads a kanji and takes it for another because he hadn’t reviewed enough, really, he hadn’t…</p><p>He didn’t even have to be here, not with envelopes and emails and scholarship packages in his name. Kageyama is probably out on his usual morning run, having already accepted the Adlers’ proposition to play next year; Hinata had also passed on the idea of university, instead starting to study some basic Portuguese at home in preparation for his Brazil stint next year.</p><p><em>Shit</em>, how did the law of cosines go again—</p><p>He shuts his eyes and shakes his head slightly in an attempt to clear his thoughts. Maybe he should trust in the fact that he <em>had </em>prepared for this one moment, that he had maintained near-perfect grades all his life. Tsukishima Kei isn’t a person who chokes, because while he never really <em>feels </em>like he can trust himself, his body, his mind, they know what to do at any given moment.</p><p><em>Habit is second nature</em>. He remembers Kamomedai’s slogan, one that had burned itself against the back of his eyelids not only because he’d seen it every time he made a serve in that fateful game back in his first year, but also because he spent hours watching and analyzing Kamomedai’s game tape’s just to figure out how their blocking system worked and if he could  apply that to Karasuno, and maybe if he spent that time answering test booklets instead of obsessing over Sachiro Hirugami, then maybe he wouldn’t be drowning in his pool of nerves right now.</p><p>He mentally groans as he opens his eyes.</p><p>He spots Yachi-san from the corner of his eye just as he finds himself back at square one of his pointlessly nervous thoughts. She’s tiny as always in her school uniform. Half of her face is wrapped in a gigantic star-patterned scarf. He raises a hand to catch her attention. The gates are still closed; spending the bitterly cold waiting time with a friend seems like the best thing to do.</p><p>“Tsukishima-kun!” Yachi says, voice slightly muffled by her scarf. “It’s nice to see you here, I’ve been here for the past thirty minutes because I thought I was going to be late for the test and I wouldn’t be able to take the exam and then I wouldn’t be able to have a decent future so my mom will disown me and I won’t be able to—”</p><p>“Easy, Yachi-san,” Tsukishima says with a chuckle. Yachi’s characteristic nervousness always had a way of calming down his own nerves. “We’re not late. We can do this.”</p><p>Yachi’s eyes brighten. “You think so? I mean, I know it’s always good to have big dreams, but I’ve been wanting to apply to Tohoku because that’s where my mom went so I’ll need a <em>really</em> high score, I think, and I also want to apply to schools that are more focused on design, but—”</p><p>“Wait, what?” Tsukishima answers, taken aback. All this time there was another person who shared his dream and was as dedicated to the volleyball club as he was; no <em>wonder </em>his sensei was constantly pissed off at him. “You want to go to Tohoku?”</p><p>“Oh, did I say something wrong? Or—or did you mean, like, you were surprised I was aiming for an imperial university because I’m not good enough, that’s it, right, Tsukishima-kun—”</p><p>“Yachi-san,” Tsukishima says firmly, tilting his head downwards to look her directly in the eye. “You and I both know that you’re really smart. So no, that wasn’t my point, it’s just…” he trails off, before continuing. “I want to go to Tohoku too.”</p><p>“Well, like I said, I want to look into other arts-focused schools but aiming to get a score good enough for Tohoku would probably really help me anyway.” Yachi breathes, before continuing. “I can see you there, you know. Their archaeology and history programs are supposed to be really good.”</p><p>Kei’s eyes widen slightly. “You know what major I want to take? You’re not going to tell me to play volleyball for Meiji or something?”</p><p>“Ah, Yamaguchi-kun might have said something about dinosaurs once,” Yachi says with a sheepish laugh, and Kei couldn’t even bring himself to be annoyed. The tinkle of her laughter soothes the last of his pre-test jitters. “You seem like you think things through. So if you say you want to go to Tohoku, then, I think you’re pretty set on that. And once you decide on something difficult, you always make sure to do well, you know?”</p><p>Tsukishima plays with his fingers, unsure of how to respond to her words, which were honest and clear and sounded almost like compliments.</p><p><em>Five more minutes until the testing center opens</em>. He knows that he’d probably end up overthinking the center test again if he remains silent.</p><p>“Yachi-san, what makes you say that? And why do you know so much about me?” Tsukishima asks lightly.</p><p>Yachi looks up at him, tapping a finger against her chin, before answering slowly.</p><p>“It’s… it’s kind of like when you make the run-up to hit one of Kageyama-kun’s difficult high quick tosses? You don’t always do it, because that would be hard, but when you decide to, you put all your strength into jumping high and putting power into the tips of your fingertips and <em>bam!</em>”</p><p>A pause, and Yachi-san’s smile is so brilliant it almost blinds him.</p><p>“I was your manager for three years, Tsukishima-kun! Of course I know a lot about you!”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He wakes up to the buzz of his phone, having set it to create the loudest possible sound when it comes to important notifications. He’d been antsy for exam results all week, and it’s Friday and there’s still no news, why is the university administration prolonging his <em>hell</em>…</p><p>His mind is still full of sleep as he reaches for his phone on his nightstand, and without his glasses, he’s barely able to make out the words on his screen.</p><p>It’s an email notification: his college admission results are finally available.</p><p>Kei’s throat grows dry.</p><p>
  <em>Am I ready to find out I failed? Does it matter if I fail? I have a hundred and one back-up plans, surely if this doesn’t go well then I think I’ll be fine, but I don’t want to fail, but—</em>
</p><p>He takes in a deep breath. The work had been all in the past, there is nothing more he can do; all he has to do now is to open his eyes to whatever reality has in store for him.</p><p>He’s all nerves when he presses around for the system login page on Tohoku’s website, and the shaking in his hands causes him to mistype his credentials twice before he manages to get in and:</p><p>The words of acceptance are clear, bold letters against a stark white background.</p><p>Accepted, accepted, accepted. History department. Tohoku University. He refreshes the page twice to see if the result would change. It doesn’t.</p><p>He takes a screenshot to make sure the page would <em>never </em>change. He made it.</p><p>He <em>made </em>it.</p><p>Phone in hand, he runs down the stairs to find his mom preparing breakfast in the kitchen. He doesn’t say a word, but his smile is huge when he hands his phone to his mother, who in turn spends a whole minute smiling at the screen.</p><p>“Kei, congratulations, I know you’ve wanted this your whole life—”</p><p>“Thanks, Mom,” Kei says, smile still not leaving his face even as he points out that his mom hadn’t been paying attention to the stove.</p><p>Breakfast is egg and burnt sausage and tastes a lot like dreams coming true.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The end of his high school life isn’t something he’d ever put much thought into. While he’d spent the past three years inching towards whatever’s beyond—university, volleyball, his future in general—he never really stopped to consider what graduation day itself would feel like.</p><p>The air in Miyagi is crisp, his gakuran and his scarf not doing much to protect him from the cold. Around him, sakura trees were at the cusp of bloom, and in his hand, the diploma he spent three years of his life working hard for. It’s lightweight and honestly doesn’t feel like much.</p><p>There’s a deceptive sense of normalcy that envelops him. Somehow, finishing their last run at the Spring Tournament had a lot more gravitas to it, but then again it might have been due to the overwhelming feeling of <em>almost</em>. Third place is the first place of those who didn’t make it to the finals, so his last day as Karasuno’s official middle blocker slightly sucked.</p><p>But maybe that’s the thing: right now, there’s no real feeling of <em>almost </em>nagging at him. After half-heartedly singing the school hymn for the last time, collecting his diploma, and then saying goodbye to his classmates and his volleyball kouhai, for once Tsukishima Kei feels satisfied.</p><p>He’s off to his dream university, off to play more volleyball for a good team, he’s probably going to be stuck with Yamaguchi and Yachi and Hinata for the rest of his life, and, well. There’s Kageyama.</p><p>So maybe there’s one thing he could end up leaving behind as an almost.</p><p>If there is one thing about his graduation day that he’d put some thought into, it’s the super strange, super pointless tradition of giving his uniform’s second button, the one closest to his heart, to the person he liked the most. Because he had thought about it, twice or thrice, the fleeting fantasy of giving the king his button and gently placing it in Tobio’s calloused hands. He thought about it, and then promptly shot it down, because it’s stupid and uncomfortable and weird and just because everyone else had done it before doesn’t mean he has to, right?</p><p>So when a giggling girl—his classmate, he notes idly, the girl who sits diagonally from his desk—comes to bashfully him to ask him for his second button, he turns her down with an <em>I’m not planning to give anyone my button, sorry</em>, instead of an <em>Oh, I plan to give it to someone else.</em></p><p>Except, the nagging thought in his mind, one of Kageyama giving <em>his </em>second button to someone else, really drives him up a metaphorical wall. And Kageyama has so many admirers. And Kageyama is so <em>easy.</em></p><p>He tamps down his jealousy; he’s being really, really ridiculous. If he has no plans of reciprocating, he really has no right to expect, but then from a distance he sees Yamaguchi give his button to Yachi-san and Yachi-san’s reaction really is adorable and <em>why can’t he be less of a coward and go and get the same reaction from the person he likes, god damn it</em>—</p><p>Just because they’d gone out several times after that first curry date—it wasn’t a date, but maybe it was—doesn’t mean anything.</p><p>(Gone out, together, alone, in places with warm atmospheres; both conversations and silences with Kageyama were so easy and Kei thinks he sees opportunities to take his plays somewhere further, to up the stakes, but he never does, preferring risk-free gameplay.)</p><p>Kei sighs and leans against the sakura tree he’s under. His parents and Akiteru had gone home ahead of him, knowing that Kei would want some privacy as he ties the loose threads connecting him to Karasuno. To be frank, he’s pretty much done with everything so he can just walk home. This isn’t the last time he’ll see his friends; they’ll all be in Miyagi in one way or another next year.</p><p>There’s nothing special about today’s goodbye.</p><p>“Tsukishima!” a familiar voice calls out, and he looks up from his brooding stance to see that it’s Kageyama, walking briskly to his position. From this distance, he can tell that Kageyama has his uniform hanging open, and today is so <em>cold</em> that there really is only one explanation.</p><p>He tries to ignore his heart sinking down to the pit of his stomach.</p><p>“Tsukishima. I—” he huffs, catching his breath slightly. “Good, I found you—”</p><p>Tsukishima pushes up his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and peers at Kageyama with an expression carefully controlled to look neutral. “Why were you looking for me, your highness?”</p><p>“Don’t call me that,” Kageyama says on reflex, before he sighs and corrects himself, “You know what, it doesn’t even matter.”</p><p>“Didn’t answer my question,” Tsukishima answers flatly. He’s <em>not </em>jealous over some stupid buttons, he’s not stupid, just cause it’s tradition doesn’t mean…</p><p>The setter catches his gaze, and Tsukishima notices the way he takes a deep breath, steeling himself before he says, “Give me your hand.”</p><p>Kei’s narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Ew, gross.”</p><p>Tobio glares back at him. “Give me your hand,” he repeats more firmly, with the same tone he uses when he demands for difficult plays on the court. Tsukishima relents; it’s not like he’s been great at refusing Kageyama lately, so he extends his palm for the other boy to take. Kageyama’s expression morphs into a rare, genuine smile, one that makes Tsukishima regret being petty for stupid reasons.</p><p>Kageyama takes his right wrist in his left hand, lightly grasping while he fishes for something in his pocket. It takes a few moments until Kageyama drops little pinpricks of cold onto his hand, and he looks down to see five gakuran buttons against the pale skin of his palm.</p><p>Tsukishima looks at Kageyama, throat suddenly dry. “What…?”</p><p>“For you, I guess,” he answers, blue eyes holding onto Kei’s amber gaze for a few heartbeats, until he seems to realize the awkwardness of the situation that they’re in. He breaks eye contact, composure shattered, a dusting of pink on the tips of his ears. There’s relief that floods Tsukishima’s heart, and he allows himself to smile.</p><p>“You guess?” Kei says, a teasing tone in his voice. “You mean you aren’t sure?”</p><p>“No!” Kageyama responds. “I mean I’m sure, I just didn’t know if you wanted them, but—”</p><p>Tsukishima hums. <em>Nothing </em>can bring him down from his high. He’s invincible, he can do anything, he can conquer the world. “All five though? Shouldn’t you save some for your admirers, Kageyama?”</p><p>“And give them false hope?” Kageyama huffs. “No thanks. Now do you want them or not?”</p><p>“Hmm… You could have just been honest and told me that no one asked you for your second button, your highness,” Tsukishima says lightly, chuckling before letting his fingers envelop the buttons, enclosing them with his fist.</p><p>Did he win his stupid game? Is this still a game? Does it matter?</p><p>It’s a very, very good day.</p><p>Kageyama grabs at Tsukishima’s fist, which he holds up above his head, just slightly away from Kageyama’s reach. “Give them back, you asshole!”</p><p>“Nope,” Tsukishima answers brightly, moving swiftly to pocket all of Kageyama’s buttons, before continuing, “Touch-move, no takebacks.”</p><p>The realization that Tsukishima wanted the buttons hits Kageyama, and his smile returns. “Then give me yours in return!”</p><p>Tsukishima looks down at his gakuran in mock indignation.</p><p>“Me? Give you my button? And ruin my perfectly good school uniform in the process?” he responds with fake incredulity. “Never.”</p><p>“You piece of shit, I really regret liking you—”</p><p>Ah, so Kageyama likes him.</p><p>“Relax, Kageyama,” Tsukishima says in a sing-song voice, drowning out the quickening staccato of his heart. <em>Kageyama likes him</em>.</p><p>A stray sakura petal falls onto Tobio’s dark hair, and he reaches over to gently pluck it away. Tobio looks at him and sees Tsukishima’s fond smile and the blush on his face.</p><p>“Look, I’m not giving you any buttons, because I think this whole thing is stupid,” he says, letting his hand drop from Kageyama’s head to beside his hand, lightly brushing against the setter’s wrist. He entwines their palms and lets his thumb rub circles over Kageyama’s knuckles. “I don’t want to give you anything that I don’t fully intend on giving you.”</p><p>Tobio nods in slight understanding. “Okay…?”</p><p>“But,” Tsukishima continues, boldness shooting through his veins like adrenaline in the middle of a five-set match. He intertwines their fingers. Kageyama’s hands are really warm. “I’m not going to lie, I was scared you were going to give yours to someone else and I know <em>that’s </em>unfair—”</p><p>“You really have character problems.” Tobio is grinning at him now.</p><p>“Which means you have bad taste in men,” Tsukishima bites back. “Thank you for your buttons, your highness.”</p><p>“You’re… welcome?”</p><p>A gust of wind blows, and it’s cold, and getting into his first high school relationship the second he ended high school is really stupid. They’re going their separate ways, and it’s only going to get harder from here. But Kei wants this.</p><p>And if there’s something he learned over the past three years, something that bears more weight than a flimsy white diploma, it’s this:</p><p>There’s really no harm in going for things that you like.</p><p>“Kageyama Tobio. I like you, too.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the delay! Writing a few scenes from the second chapter was much harder than I anticipated, but I hope that it was worth the wait.<br/><br/>Some things:</p><ul>
<li>Thank you to Sasha and to Kuro for holding my hand especially through the early days of this fic! Your encouragement kept me going!</li>
<li>This fic was 75% a product of painful research, 25% me taking my own liberties with how things generally go. I tried to be realistic but my brain sort of rotted halfway. Any inaccuracies and errors when it comes to real-world details are my fault, let's pretend they didn't happen...</li>
<li>It was tough! I'm so happy I finally finished this. It really felt like a love letter to Tsukishima at one point, and I hope you guys all enjoyed it too if you made it all the way here.</li>
</ul><p><br/><br/>As always, thank you for reading, and I'm on twitter as @bottomikun if you're up for a chat!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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